


Invisible Empire

by broniichan



Category: Free!
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, M/M, Non-Linear Chronology, Post-Canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 10:30:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13339362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broniichan/pseuds/broniichan
Summary: When did Sousuke surpass him? When did Sousuke become so mature, and he so childish? When did he regress so much?Rin digs for a definitive moment, a game changer, the place where their paths split, but his hands grasp at nothing and at everything.





	Invisible Empire

It begins, as most things do, at no point and at all points.

 

  
I. after

Rin arrives at the television station approximately fifteen minutes before the call time. He is the first of the three, and a rush of assistants usher him into one of the dressing rooms to begin making him camera ready, while Sousuke hangs back in the green room. Eventually, as an assistant touches up his face with little dabs of makeup, his teammate Shimohara pops in and settles into the seat beside Rin. They chat—Shimohara always was the friendliest member of their team. While assistants fuss over Rin’s hair and Rin hints at how he wants them to style it, Shimohara sits tight, his brownish buzzcut posing no challenge.

Predictably, Oda shows up fifteen minutes past the call time, dressed in a wrinkled t-shirt and jeans, his bleached blond hair dark at the roots and frizzy. The assistants seem at a loss for what to do with him, and Rin, in his crisp red button down, suit jacket, and pants, can’t help a small smirk.

As Oda wards off the swarm of assistants, Shimohara fixes on Rin. “Is Haruka-san coming?”

Rin sighs. “No. I tried to bribe him into it, but he wasn’t budging.”

“He was right to stay at home,” grumbles Oda, an assistant yanking a comb through his hair.

Rin whacks Oda’s shoulder with the back of his hand.

Once they’re all primped and ready to go, Rin sufficiently pleased with his hair, a woman with a clipboard and headset leads them through dingy white hallways to the main set. They shake hands with the host, a brisk middle aged woman named Fukuyama with sleek chestnut hair in a bun, and settle into three armchairs in front of the cameras. Assistants flitter around, handing off personal mics. Sitting between Oda and Shimohara, Rin attaches his mic to the collar of his button down.

“Oh, excuse me?” he says to an assistant.

“Yes, Matsuoka-san?”

“Could my friend watch the taping? He’s in the green room.”

“Absolutely, Matsuoka-san. I’ll go fetch him right now.”

She returns with Sousuke, who shares a small smile with Rin and melds into the background, just visible beyond the cameras and the lights.

The station director calls to begin filming, and they start the interview. Luckily, this one isn’t live, so they film in takes.

Fukuyama introduces them with, “Hello Tokyo! Today I am here with Oda Daisuke, Shimohara Ryouhei, and Matsuoka Rin, the members of Japan’s Olympic swimming relay team. Their fourth member, Nanase Haruka, was unfortunately not able to join us today, but nevertheless, we are excited to get the privilege to speak to you three. Welcome!”

They go through the basics: everyone’s hometown, stroke, university, then they move on to the more pressing topic at hand, their gold medal win in the 400m relay on home turf in Tokyo at the 2020 Olympics.

“Now, Matsuoka-san,” Fukuyama eventually says, clasping her hands over her knee, “you are longtime friends with Nanase-san, correct? As he isn’t here today, do you mind talking about that?”

“Sure,” Rin says. “He and I have been swimming with and against each other since we were kids, and he’s still one of my closest friends and probably my biggest rival.”

“To speak on your rivalry, the 200m freestyle race where Nanase-san won gold and broke the world record while you won silver was absolutely electric.”

Rin tilts his head, and he can almost see Sousuke smirking. “Hey, my time _also_ broke the previous world record. Haru just happened to beat my world record by three-tenths of a second.”

Fukuyama laughs. “You’re right. The two of you were absolutely on your own level.”

The interview moves on to their plans for the future, and whether they’ll swim for Japan again in the Paris 2024 Olympics. Rin says definitely, Shimohara says probably, and Oda says he doesn’t know.

The taping wraps up, and once Rin returns his mic, he heads over to Sousuke, who peels himself from the wall and unfolds his arms. Rin bumps his fist with Sousuke’s and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“So, how was it?” Rin asks.

“Boring.”

Rin kicks Sousuke in the shin.

“I already know too much about you all,” Sousuke says, smiling. “All these interviews are the same. I would like to forget the things I’ve learned. About you in particular.”

“Shut up.” Despite himself, Rin grins. “I can’t help that we’re a hot topic right now. Don’t worry, it’ll all settle down eventually, and you can go enjoy forgetting everything.”

“Can’t come soon enough.”

They reenter the real world together, merging amongst buzzing streets, cars, and people, yet a warmth lingers on the skin of Rin’s face from the lights and the cameras.

 

  
II. before

Australia is great, and Rin’s metaphorical circle completes after returning there to train after high school, but there’s something about returning home.

Maybe not _home_ home, not Iwatobi, but Tokyo, which is close enough. Makoto and Haru go to their separate universities there. Gou too, as she managed to get into the University of Tokyo and made Rin dissolve into a fiercely proud puddle of tears. Admittedly, Rei attends a school in England, but Nagisa fools around in Osaka, majoring in god knows what. Of course, Sousuke is in Tokyo too, working away at a degree in athletic training and sports science.

Rin comes home a little bit before the Rio 2016 Olympics to train as a new member on Japan’s Olympic swim team. Haru is there too, and they both spend hours and hours conditioning, barely seeing anything outside of a pool or a gym. The results are mixed, in Rio; Michael Phelps continues to dominate, but Rin comes away with a bronze in 100m butterfly, fifth in 200m butterfly, a bronze in 200m free, and fourth in 100m free, while Haru secures a silver in 200m free and fifth in 100m free. They don’t participate in the 400m relay this time around, and Rin tells himself and Haru that’s why Japan doesn’t place so well.

After the races end, Rin says to Haru, “Next time we’ll do better. We’ll have the home crowd advantage.”

Haru replies, “Next time our friends and family can come and watch.”

When they return to Japan with great fanfare, Rin stays, leaving Australia behind.

 

III. after 

Given all of his earnings from swimming and endorsements, Rin has a lot of money and not much he knows to do with it. So he buys a car.

Not just any car, but a convertible, well-designed and sleek enough to be recognizably expensive, yet not flashy or garish enough to paint Rin as a pompous prat. Rin puts himself to its maintenance, obsessively wiping down its jet black paint job, tinkering away in its spectacular engine, and making sure the leather seats don’t crack and erode. It’s utterly impractical and Rin almost never gets to drive it, keeping it locked in a private hangar near his apartment (never mind the fact he essentially lives with Sousuke, who does not own a car).

Sousuke gives a tired shake of his head every time the thing comes up.

Out of curiosity, Rin asks Makoto what they’re doing with Haru’s winnings. Although Haru certainly never made as much as Rin during his career, he still generated a solid chunk of change, enough to move out of his and Makoto’s closet of an apartment with plenty to spare. Makoto says Haru didn’t want any of it, so the pair of them researched some charities and donated almost the entirety of it.

“Of course you did,” Rin mutters.

Makoto lets out a strained laugh.

 

  
IV. before

It takes time for Rin to adjust to seeing his face everywhere.

Following Rio, both he and Haru fall under public attention in both Japan and the rest of the world, and suddenly, he’s receiving all these phone calls and emails, and his number of followers on Twitter jumps into the thousands. People are talking about him. People want to know more about him. He accepts some proposals, appearing on television shows and endorsing products, though he never goes slack on his training regimen. Within the span of a year, adverts for activewear, protein bars, cereals, sneakers, and a TV series bear his face and name.

There’s a slight rush whenever he sees one of his products. _That’s me,_ he has to remind himself. _People buy things with me on it._

“Oi,” Rin says one early morning in Sousuke’s kitchen as he rifles through Sousuke’s cupboards. He turns and holds up a box of sports drink packets. “Do you miss me that much when I’m not around?”

Inch-sized Rin smiles from the box.

Sousuke rolls his eyes. “I only buy them because they’re good quality,” he says.

Rin points a finger to mini-him, coy smile tugging at his mouth. “Olympic swimmer Matsuoka Rin knows they’re good quality.”

“Olympic swimmer Matsuoka Rin is much uglier in real life than in pictures,” Sousuke retorts, earning the little box to be thrown at his chest. He laughs.

Rin’s endorsements go well, yet meanwhile, Haru turns down every single offer he receives. Rin is fine with interviews, photoshoots, talking to people on Twitter (though he wishes it weren’t so easy for Nagisa to tag him in truly abhorrent memes), and he is charismatic, mostly friendly, and people like him; Haru, on the other hand, can barely be pinned down with an adequately pleasant expression for the Tachibanas’ precambrian digital camera, let alone willingly pose for hours long photoshoots, so almost all pictures to be found of him are hurried candids. Multiple times, Rin tries to convince him to at least try Twitter or something, but Haru always deflects with, Too much work, or, Why would I talk to people I don’t know?

Even so, Haru’s low public appearance only adds to the mystique of the legendary Nanase Haruka, and he ends up with a mammoth fanbase foaming at the mouth for any content about him. Occasional fan theories speculate whether he’s dead or whether he never existed in the first place, until Rin or one of their teammates catch a snippet of him in the background of a picture and the entire internet implodes.

Makoto reads all letters addressed to Haru, which leads to Haru taking one offer, however: a fishing trip up north with a fan.

By the time Tokyo 2020 rolls around, Rin’s eyes glaze over images of himself, and the rush is gone.

 

  
V. after

Paris 2024 is fine.

Rin goes, while Sousuke and the rest of their friends and family stay behind in Japan. Shimohara is on the team again, but Oda isn’t, apparently vanishing off into America to “find himself.” Haru is also absent, and in fact, he quit professional swimming two years prior, having gotten his fill of medals and relays with Rin. This Olympics, there’s the opportunity for Rin to participate in the 400m relay again for Paris, but he can’t bring himself to.

The races go off. Rin finally wins gold in 200m freestyle, but he does not break Haru’s world record, or even the one he broke when he was three-tenths of a second slower than Haru. Other races in butterfly add to his medal count, and he comes away with a couple more bronze and silver for his collection.

All throughout this round of the Olympics, he feels he isn’t competing with anyone else, but instead competing with his own older and less malleable body. When the races conclude, he publicly announces Paris 2024 to be his last Olympics. He prolongs the inevitable and tries his hand at a couple of smaller national and international championships afterwards, but his limbs can’t seem to align as well with his mind. There’s nothing to be done about it.

So two years after Paris, he officially retires from competitive swimming. There’s no teary goodbye, just a simple, polished statement, and that’s that. Now his only spoils are his awards and medals. Maybe not as many as Michael Phelps, but more than Haru.

Overall, decent.

 

  
VI. before

Rin prefers Sousuke’s apartment to his own.

On a comfort and aesthetic level, his apartment wins, no contest, but throughout his time back in Japan, he never once considers his apartment to be a home. Where Sousuke’s is disastrous, miniscule, and faces a dumpster, Rin’s is clean, spacious, and has a skyline view, yet its purpose in Rin’s life is entirely utilitarian.

He originally purchases the apartment when he returns to Japan from Australia in preparation for Rio, as it is close to the training center and close to Makoto and Haru’s so Makoto isn’t the only one responsible for dragging Haru outside. The apartment serves him well enough until after Rio, when bit by bit he transfers his life over to Sousuke’s apartment and Sousuke himself.

Whatever it is between them—childhood friendship, rivalry, an unbreakable bond that has survived separate continents and life paths—gradually becomes romantic. It’s easy; neither has to worry about the baggage they carry, and they both understand each other better than anyone else.

But it’s not ideal outside the two of them. With a precarious stack of talent, sponsors, endorsements, and good reputation, a male romantic partner might topple it all and ruin Rin’s future for good. So, they hide the romantic aspect from everyone but their closest friends and family for fear of repercussions to Rin’s career. Sousuke knows he cannot publicly be seen as anything other than a friend, and Rin is grateful he understands.

Not that there isn’t speculation. There’s speculation about Rin and Haru as well, and a veritable fuckton of speculation about Haru and Makoto. Unlike Rin, Haru does not actively hide his relationship with Makoto. Admittedly both Haru and Makoto are somewhat more private about their relationship to begin with, so there never was any danger of blatant displays of affection in public, but while Rin denies every rumor in interviews, Haru lets them fester. Too much work, he says. People can believe what they want, he says.

In any case, Rin routinely sleeps at his apartment only to put forth the appearance that he lives there.

“How does it feel to get to fuck a celebrity?” Rin murmurs into Sousuke’s ear, grinding slowly.

“It would be better if he would shut up,” grunts Sousuke, flipping the position and pinning Rin to the mattress. His breath and mouth are hot on Rin’s neck as his hand glides under Rin’s shirt.

Rin shuts his mouth with a smirk, but the quiet doesn’t last long.

After, they curl up together with Rin as the big spoon, his arm wrapped around Sousuke’s waist and his lips pressed to Sousuke’s nape. Sousuke’s ratty navy comforter hangs at their hips, still the same one he used all through college. Rin bought him a full size bed to replace his twin after Sousuke graduated, because Sousuke was now a _real_ adult with a _real_ job and should act like it. This was well intentioned, yet not well thought out, because Sousuke’s bedroom is also tiny, so the full allows only about a foot of space between it and the walls, and every day Rin knocks an elbow or a knee into the wall and spits out a sampling of choice words.

Although Sousuke allowed the bed, he stubbornly refuses to replace the comforter that now doesn’t even fit properly. At once, Rin finds this irritating and endearing, and will never admit how comfortable and soft the comforter is.

Rin smoothes his hand up Sousuke’s arm, coming to a hesitant stop at Sousuke’s shoulder. Eyes trailing the now fading surgery scars, Rin strokes Sousuke’s warm skin with his thumb.

Pulling in a breath, Rin lifts his head just enough to whisper, “Sousuke?”

“Mm.”

Rin’s thumb stops. “Does it hurt?”

Sousuke doesn’t have to ask what. He puffs out a little sigh. “Sometimes,” he admits.

Rin says nothing in response, finger tracing scar lines.

 

VII. after 

“I’m going to write a book,” Rin announces over dinner on a Sunday.

Sousuke looks up from his curry and squints. “What about?”

“ _My life_ , of course, you dumbass.”

“Ah.”

Rin downs a sip of water. “Everyone likes memoirs. People will lap that shit up.”

With a slow nod, Sousuke studies Rin’s face. “If that’s what you want to do,” he says.

Sousuke’s pacifying tone digs, so Rin says, with a bit of a bite, “It is.”

“…Okay.”

Later, when Sousuke drifts off to sleep, Rin sets his laptop on the kitchen table and opens up a blank document. He sits there, and watches the cursor blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

He closes the laptop. _Tomorrow._

 

VIII. after 

Even though he no longer needs to for training, Rin goes to the gym or swims at least six days out of the week. He’s riddled with constant fear that he’ll get soft and lazy like so many former professional athletes do, and he’s maybe even more obsessive than before with meticulously organizing his diet and workout schedule. He’s in his early thirties now, after all. He can’t act like a college student. He also has a coaching job at Waseda University’s team to pass the time, and feels an irrational need to be the proper role model to his swimmers.

As expected, Haru does not care about keeping up with any sort of regimen. Other than the occasional swim when he feels like it (in a public pool, for god’s sake, like any old person trying to fulfill their New Year’s Resolutions), his time is devoted to painting, sketching, cooking, and spoiling both Makoto and their cat Cabbage.

Rin manages to wrangle Haru into a phone conversation one night. “Did you see the World Championships?” he asks.

“I don’t watch swimming.”

“Well, some nineteen-year-old from Germany broke our world records in 200m free.”

“Oh.”

Rin is silent for a moment, holding out for something, some sort of tone to hover in Haru’s breath.

But there is nothing. “Sounds like the water likes him.”

Rin scoffs. “Shut up.”

 

  
IX. after

While out doing errands, Rin runs into Rei, who now lives in Tokyo with Nagisa and participates in some thrilling physics study he can’t shut up about. Rei’s stuffy, persnickety personality truly clicks and fits as an adult, as everything boring about being a real adult excites him. In a dark and disturbing crevice of his mind, Rin dimly wonders whether Nagisa is ever forced to do some roleplay involving taxes.

“So, I hear you are writing a memoir?” Rei says.

“Yeah, I am.”

“I never thought of you as the writer type, but I will be most interested in seeing what you have to say.” Rei pushes up his newer black framed glasses. “What is it in particular that inspired you to start writing something?”

“I don’t know, I guess…” Rin’s fingers card through the ends of his hair. “I guess I just thought people would think it would be interesting to read the personal thoughts of a former pro swimmer and record breaker.”

Rei’s brow knits. “Record holder?”

“Well, sort of, I guess. The one at Tokyo 2020? With Haru?”

“Ah yes, that one. I was there.” Rei give Rin a tight lipped smile. “Three-tenths of a second, was it?”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“Well, anyway, I am glad to hear you aren’t writing a book just to get your name back in the news,” says Rei, with a loud, cold laugh.

“Yeah.”

They part their separate ways when the conversation ends, but Rin can’t shake the urge to deck Rei in the face.

 

  
X. after

Twenty-seven.

Twenty-seven pages.

Only twenty-seven fucking pages.

That can’t be right. It’s been months.

Rin scrolls back and forth.

There aren’t even defined chapters yet, or any sort of organization. He knows a memoir can’t be only twenty-seven fucking pages, but when he thinks of what to write, his mind blots white.

He groans and runs a hand down his face.

“Something up?” asks Sousuke, clutching a mug of coffee. His stubble has yet to be shaved.

“I can’t do this,” Rin spews. “It’s not working out. It sucks.”

Calmly, Sousuke sips his coffee, and Rin’s insides turn with disgust like always at how black and bitter Sousuke takes it. “Well, it’s a first draft,” Sousuke says. “Once you edit it, it won’t suck.”

“No, it’s—” Rin heaves a frustrated sigh. “You don’t get it—”

Sousuke’s expression tightens. “ _What_ don’t I get?”

“I _need_ this. I _need_ it to do well. I can’t just slip away into the unknown and just be some washed up has-been.”

Exhaling, Sousuke sinks into the chair opposite Rin. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Rin stares. “Is that such a bad thing?! Do you hear yourself?”

Sousuke refuses to back down, responding with silence.

“Forget it, I shouldn’t be surprised,” Rin snaps. “Of course you wouldn’t get it. You went to university and got a degree and work a regular nine-to-five job like everyone else—”

“Rin—”

“I’m sorry you’re jealous that I could do what you couldn’t.”

A younger Sousuke might have shoved him, yelled for him to get fucked, or stormed off, but this Sousuke merely sets his mug on the table and looks him straight in the eye.

“Look, Rin,” he says, voice quiet. “I’ve actually… I’ve been thinking about this for a while.” He stops, eyes flickering down as he picks his words. “I’ve been by your side all these years, supporting you, helping you. And I don’t regret any of that at all, but. I think you have some things to think about, and I don’t think I can help you with that. Maybe… Maybe it would be best for you to take some time on your own.”

Rin’s stomach drops and his mouth gapes open. “Are you fucking serious?”

“I am.”

Rin wants Sousuke to fight back, to be loud, angry, like always; not whatever this is, this plain, collected disappointment.

Blood thumps hot.

“I—you—fuck it. _Fine._ ” Rin slams his laptop and stands, chair screeching on linoleum. In a haze, he stomps through the whole apartment, snatching up his phone, his keys, his jacket, and his shoes, while Sousuke sits and watches him.

Without another word or look to Sousuke, Rin leaves the apartment, door crashing shut behind him.

It’s not until Rin has marched all the way to the station, ridden the train, and popped back into his own old apartment that he realizes he left his laptop with his draft at Sousuke’s.

He does a quick investigation of the full apartment. Not much of him is here.

 

  
  
XI.

Rin’s phone buzzes, rattling the desk. With a sigh, he presses the home button and the screen lights up.

**Rin-chan!!!!!!!! Go look at what I tagged you in!!!!!!!!!!! :3**

Rubbing his temples, Rin ponders how Nagisa managed to reach thirty-one while still texting like a middle schooler. Below the text are several notifications from Twitter.

He locks the screen and pushes the phone away.

 

XII. 

Makoto shows up at Rin’s apartment one evening.

“Sorry to show up unannounced like this,” he says, smiling in that charmingly placating way he always does. “I was just on my way back from work, so I thought I might as well see if you were around.” Dark brown glasses are now a permanent fixture on his face.

“It’s good to see you,” Rin replies, because it is.

They sit and chat amicably over a cup of tea for Makoto.

Makoto peers into Rin, eyes going a little soft. “How are you?”

There it is.

Rin cocks his head. “Checking up on me, are you?” He says it playfully, but his smile is bitter.

Makoto remains firm. “Of course I am.”

Rin sighs and picks up Makoto’s now empty cup of tea, standing and dropping it off in the kitchen sink. “I’m fine,” he calls, washing the cup out. “I’m just putting my time into my memoir and coaching.”

No response from the other room.

Rin flicks off the faucet and watches the water trickle down the drain, holding himself up with a hand on the counter.

“That was the worst fight you’ve ever had with Sousuke, wasn’t it?”

Rin’s throat tightens.

A droplet inches along the sloped base of the sink, petering out just before it can fall into the abyss.

In a low voice, Rin says, “It wasn’t even a real fight.”

Neither says anything, not wanting to voice the word at the back of their heads.

_Dumped._

 

XIII. 

There’s a bar Rin goes to from time to time. The night proceeds depressingly similar each time: he shows up alone, kills brain cells with shots, gets stupid drunk, and eventually invites some equally drunk guy who is at least relatively attractive and not an explicit asshole back to his apartment.

Tonight is no different. By around two a.m. he finds a guy, tall with white blond hair, and they move things over to Rin’s apartment. It’s nice, and this guy is better than some of the other guys Rin has slept with in the past couple of months, but once they no longer touch, once the guy is up and out of the apartment without either of them exchanging numbers, the emptiness returns.

Rin takes off the bed sheets and pushes them into the washer, waiting and swimming in his lingering drunkenness. He knows he’ll have a hangover tomorrow.

The dryer’s _ping_ jerks him out of his stupor. Scooping out the fresh, warm sheets, he carries them to his bedroom and halts in the doorway. The room is dark other than the infiltrating hallway light, and he stares at the bare mattress, soft cloth clutched to his chest.

There’s so much space in the room. Too much. Other than the one wall it shares, the queen bed rests by itself, the surrounding walls oceans away.

Rin’s vision blurs with tears, and he presses the sheets to his face.

 

XIV. 

It’s been months since he last checked his convertible.

His compulsive upkeep forgotten, a thin film of dust clouds the shiny black coat. Rin wanders around it, looking and looking. He stops and reaches out a hand, wiping away a long stripe along the side. He raises the hand to his face and rubs at the dust on his fingers.

Though the gray color disappears, Rin’s fingertips are numb the rest of the day.

 

  
XV.

Gou calls him.

“I had dinner with Sousuke the other day,” she says after they fill each other in on general life details, treading carefully.

A couple of seconds. Rin forces out, “How is he?”

“Eh.” There’s some shuffling over the line. “He was pretty quiet. Seemed like he wanted to hear about my life more than he wanted to talk.” She pauses, drawing in an inhale. “He did ask about you, though.”

Rin hopes his voice doesn’t betray his him as he asks, “What did he say?”

“He just asked how you were doing.”

“What did you say?”

“I said you were fine.”

Sounds about right.

_Fine. Decent._

 

XVI. 

Although comfortable, Rin’s mattress is not a conducive place for rest. Often, insomnia hits, and he lies awake in the dark for hours. Thinking. Not thinking.

Periodically, Rin opens up his phone and stares at Sousuke’s contact information. A million different drafts of potential texts and phone conversations plague his mind, but Rin never acts on any of them. He can’t talk to Sousuke with nothing to show for himself yet.

In the daytime, he works on his memoir. He restarts it from scratch, buying a new laptop and leaving his old one with Sousuke. He slogs through forty or so pages, churning out rambling bullshit he hates. The manuscript is all about past Rin, good Rin, successful Rin, and current Rin isn’t sure he can really call himself Rin if everything that made Rin _Rin_ is behind him. It’s all gone, untouchable.

He closes the file and rests on folded arms on the table. Thinking.

 

XVII.

After work, Rin parks himself in the empty bleachers overlooking the pool. Staff come in and clean up the pool post practice, and he watches them with tired, unfocused eyes. He wishes he wanted this job more. He wishes he wanted to teach more. He can give corrections and advice, but there’s a disconnect between him and his swimmers, because he realizes now that he wishes he were them. Young, ambitious, their careers ahead of them, not behind.

Rin leans back and lies flat on the cold bleacher. Moving water reflects flickering waves of light onto the high domed ceiling, twisting and spiraling faster than Rin can define them.

When did Sousuke surpass him? When did Sousuke become so mature, and he so childish? When did he regress so much?

Rin digs for a definitive moment, a game changer, the place where their paths split, but his hands grasp at nothing and at everything.

He rests his arm over his eyes, blotting out everything but his breaths, his heartbeats, the gentle waves of the pool, and that oppressive nostalgia of chlorine.

A staff member finds him and kicks him out.

 

XVIII. 

Rin reads through his measly forty pages, as if seeking out opportunities to feel worse. He can see it now for what it truly is, a pathetic last ditch attempt to reclaim some non-existent personal glory. Every word, every sentence reeks with longing and desperation, and Rin can barely comprehend how he ever thought it had any potential. He shakes his head, scrolling back up aimlessly when he finishes what little there is.

About to delete it from existence, he stops, something capturing his attention. Scrolls down. Scrolls up. Scrolls down.

There’s a pattern, a theme in his pointless drabbles. Thoughts and ideas burst. Maybe it’s not pointless. Maybe there is potential.

He quickly opens a new document and begins to type.

 

XIX. 

Rin has never been the kind of person to leave anything up to chance.

Tokyo is gigantic, after all, and they live and work in different wards of the metropolis. The chances are slim, so Rin must take it on his shoulders to fix the odds.

He sends precisely one text, direct and free of any emotion.

**I’ll be at the Emerald Cafe in Nakano from 2 to 4 on Sunday.**

He exits the message and doesn’t look at it again. He’s done his part, and there’s nothing more he can do for now.

A jittery bundle of electricity, Rin does as he said he would and takes the train to Nakano and walks from the station to the Emerald Cafe. He arrives at 1:54 and plops down into a plush brown seat facing an identical seat with a small table between. His chosen table is tucked near the back along the pale green walls, away from the expansive windows letting in sunlight and a view of the bustling street. Putting down a deep breath, he sinks deeper into his seat and begins the waiting game.

He fucks around on his laptop for a while, mind too distracted to focus on anything of substance, clicking anything and reading without processing. He checks his watch. 2:17. _Nothing to get anxious about,_ he tells himself, getting anxious. _When is he ever on time?_

And he _had_ said two to four, hadn’t he? It’s a window, not a deadline. So Rin tells himself.

He tries watching some random videos, but his eyes keep darting up to the cafe door with every flash of movement.

2:43.

2:58.

3:12.

3:35.

3:47.

Rin drowns himself in wailing punk rock, hard drum beats and guitar riffs grating his eardrums. If he were at home, he would blast it throughout the whole apartment on his speakers instead of these tiny earbuds.

Movement.

Rin freezes, no longer hearing his music. He and Sousuke make eye contact. Sousuke, standing just inside the doorway, blinks and glances away, and Rin yanks out his earbuds and closes his laptop. Cautiously, Sousuke approaches Rin’s table and sits down opposite. An immediate reflex, he leans back and folds his arms tight over his chest. He’s wearing that hideous checked button down Rin’s been begging him to get rid of for years, and Rin knows this choice of apparel must be deliberate.

“…Hey,” Rin finally says.

Sousuke’s expression is neutral. “Hey.”

“How have you been?” Rin says, because there is too much and not enough to say.

Sousuke raises his shoulder and drops it. “You?”

Rin blinks, and he blurts, “Terrible.”

There’s no smile or laugh from Sousuke.

“Sousuke, I…” Rin presses his lips together. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I said such terrible things to you when you were just trying to help me and I—” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m a gigantic fucking ass.”

Sousuke’s mouth curves into a wan smile. “Yeah, you are,” he says, but without venom, just a statement of fact.

“I’m sorry. I was so… Fuck, I don’t know. I was stressed about the memoir and I took it all out on you and you didn’t deserve it—”

“Rin.” Sousuke unfolds his arms and sits forward. “I understand.”

“I’m so sorry I said you were jealous—”

“Look.” Sousuke sighs. “Although you’re a jackass for saying it, you weren’t wrong. I have felt jealous of your career. It was hard to accept that you got to live my dream and I didn’t. But I’ve moved on. I’m not jealous anymore, and I haven’t been for a while. Yeah, sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I had been able to swim, but at the same time, I no longer regret how things turned out. I don’t feel like athletic training is a cheap substitute for me. I really, truly enjoy it. And… Well, I want you to find something that isn’t just a substitution, because I…” He swallows, thickly. “I want you to be happy.”

“I…” Rin slumps a little, unsure of what to say. “I wasn’t. I haven’t been.” Averts his eyes. “It’s just. I have so much to be proud of. I accomplished my dad’s dream, I swam in the Olympics with Haru, I won national and international awards and medals. But… I don’t feel satisfied. I don’t feel proud. It was good, but it wasn’t good _enough._ ” He brushes a lock of hair back. “I don’t know what to _do._ I just feel stuck. I can’t go back to swimming, but I can’t leave it either.”

Sousuke gives him a melancholy smile. “I know,” he murmurs. “It takes time.”

They sit immersed in thought for a minute.

“But…” Rin looks up, endlessly hopeful. “It is possible?”

“To move on?” Sousuke draws lines onto his palm with his finger. “It’s not easy or fast, but it is possible.” His smile turns wry. “But when have you ever liked things that were easy or fast?”

Rin finally cracks a grin. “Yeah.”

“I started moving on from swimming a while ago, so now you’ll finally be playing catch up to me instead of the other way around.”

After a moment, Rin quietly admits, “I’ve always been playing catch up to you.”

Sousuke stills.

The smell of French vanilla cappuccino wafts from the bar.

Pressing his eyes shut, Rin draws in a wobbly inhale. “Thank you, Sousuke,” he says, reopening his eyes. “For everything, always.”

Wordlessly, Sousuke dips his head.

“Actually,” Rin says, piecing himself together, “there’s a reason why I invited you here today specifically.” He reopens his laptop and closes out of his playlist, and with a couple of clicks, he faces the screen to Sousuke.

Sousuke cranes down to read and furrows his brow.

“It’s my memoir,” Rin explains. “I finished it.”

Forehead clearing in comprehension, Sousuke pulls the laptop closer and scrolls down. “Only eighty-seven pages?”

“Hah, yeah. Look at the chapter titles.”

Dutifully, Sousuke scrolls back up to the top and then all the way through, face flickering with an emotion Rin can’t place. Rin knows the first chapter is titled _To Dad,_ the second _To Mom,_ then _To Gou, To Haru, To Makoto, To Nagisa_ … et cetera. Even Rei gets a chapter.

The closing chapter is _To Sousuke._

Sousuke looks up for explanation.

“As I was trying to write this, I noticed that the only times I could write about myself, I was writing about myself in context with someone else. Honestly, I have much more to say about you all than I do about me.”

Sousuke studies the screen, and nods to Rin. “I look forward to reading it.”

“Don’t expect too much,” Rin says. “It’s complete garbage.”

Sousuke chuckles. “Well once you get it cleaned up, I’m sure it will be good.”

Rin shakes his head. “I’m not going to edit it.”

“But if you’re going to publish it—”

“I don’t want to publish it.”

Sousuke stares.

“This is only for me and the people involved. It’s a mess, but I think… I think it needs to be left messy.”

Sousuke smiles. “If that’s what you want to do,” he says, softly.

Sudden tears well up and slip free. “It is.”

Sousuke’s eyes widen, and his hand lifts as if to reach across and brush the tears away, but it halts and falls back to his lap, held back by the public location.

Instead, Sousuke opts for a whispered, “Dumbass.”

 

  
XX. before? after? during?

Rin Matsuoka @matsuoka_rin

So you may or may not noticed that I’ve been a little inactive lately. No, I’m not dead, to those who asked.

Rin Matsuoka @matsuoka_rin

I have a couple of things I want to talk about while I’m here, if anyone cares to know.

Rin Matsuoka @matsuoka_rin

First, the memoir I announced a while back is permanently cancelled. Sorry to anyone who was looking forward to it.

Rin Matsuoka @matsuoka_rin

Second, I am no longer going to be coaching at Waseda University starting next semester. I am taking my first break ever from the world of swimming and trying to be a regular person again.

Rin Matsuoka @matsuoka_rin

Maybe I’ll find a new hobby. Like underwater basket weaving or some shit.

Rin Matsuoka @matsuoka_rin

Third, many people have asked me over the years why I haven’t ever introduced a girlfriend or gotten married. I always said I didn’t have time for dating and relationships.

Rin Matsuoka @matsuoka_rin

That was a lie. The reason is because I’ve been with my closest friend from childhood, Yamazaki Sousuke, for the past thirteen years or so.

Rin Matsuoka @matsuoka_rin

We kept it private and denied rumors because we didn’t want news of it to negatively affect my career. Looking back, I don’t regret hiding it. I doubt I would have gotten as far if it had become public.

Rin Matsuoka @matsuoka_rin

But I’m old, and I have different priorities now. Even if I had a job or a sponsorship to lose, I don’t care. If you want to discard me, avoid me, slander me, go ahead. I don’t give a shit anymore.

Rin Matsuoka @matsuoka_rin

If you now hate me or are disgusted by me, go ahead and send me your thoughts. I won’t read them or reply to them. The only opinions I care about are my friends’, my family’s, and Sousuke’s.

Rin Matsuoka @matsuoka_rin

Anyway. That’s all I have for you. You’ll probably hear less from me now, but I just want to thank everyone who has supported me throughout the years.

Rin Matsuoka @matsuoka_rin

@xx_nagisa_hazuki_xx I’m going to block you if you send me one more picture of a shaved gerbil. Don’t think I won’t do it.

**Author's Note:**

> christ I literally got the idea for this out of nowhere just a few days ago and I had to get it out of my system, so here we are
> 
> experimental as hell because I almost always write things with linear chronology
> 
> mood song is [infinitesimal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffTxXXfGKi8) by mother mother
> 
> uhhhh?????? I'm on [tumblr](https://broniichan.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/bronii_chan)


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